Page 7 of A Chance for Us
“He just . . . I don’t know. I just really thought he would be fine. I know that’s crazy, but I wasn’t ready.”
“Are we ever really ready?” she challenges.
“Probably not, but it’s been fifteen years of him being in and out of hospitals for treatment or surgeries. Now, they’re no longer trying, and he’s going to die.”
That’s what is killing me. The loss of hope.
“And how is your evil stepmother with it?”
I shrug. “Who knows? She called me three times, but I couldn’t answer.”
She flinches. “You’ll pay for that later.”
I know it. “She’ll call again. It’s like clockwork. Every hour until—” Like the demons alerted her my phone rings.
Devney’s eyes go wide, and I flash her my screen so she can see the ID. “No way.”
“I told you, Satan’s sister,” I say. “She’s something like Beetlejuice when you say her name, she appears.”
“Hey, Linda,” I answer with as much pep as I can. Lord knows if I’m not nice enough, my father will hear about it.
“Your father really doesn’t need to be making this trip to North Carolina.”
And so it begins.
“You approved it when we booked it, and he has been adamant I not cancel.”
“Yes, but it’s a great inconvenience to me. You don’t understand what it’s like to have to travel with him. He’s not a well man, Maren. We have a lot of appointments and things I have to shuffle about in order to make this . . . event . . . work.”
Event. I roll my eyes. “It’s a wedding.”
“I’m aware.”
She just doesn’t care. “I understand the inconvenience it is to you and the stress you must be under, but I offered to cancel, and he refused to even hear it.”
“Of course, he would refuse, but I’m just informing you of the difficulties we face. Had you done what I asked and come to Georgia and got married in the church here, your father wouldn’t be suffering. He’s dying, and instead of spending his last few weeks comfortable, you have him trekking up to North Carolina. Do you know what this does to me?”
The last thing in the world I want is for my father to suffer. I would give anything to keep that from happening. He never once complained about going to North Carolina. In fact, he told me to get married wherever I wanted and he’d move heaven and earth to be there. Oliver is atheist and I’m Catholic, so getting married in the church anywhere couldn’t happen. Besides, I wanted my dad to get out of that damn house for just a bit.
I stay silent, biting my tongue until the metallic taste of blood reminds me to ease up. She can only upset me if I let her, and so far, she hasn’t said anything outside of her normal repertoire of selfish and narcissistic talking points.
“Anyway,” she says, “I am packing things now, and I wanted to inform you that I’m going to wear a cream-colored dress because it’s all I have. I don’t have the time or inclination to find something else.”
She’s such a bitch.
“You’re going to wear cream?”
“Don’t worry, no one will care.”
Right. No one will care that she’s wearing the same color as the fucking bride.
Fifteen years of anger, frustration, and headaches from dealing with her bubble up. Fifteen years of listening to how I’m not good enough, I don’t do enough, or visit enough, and how it’s all on her. She seems to have forgotten that shechoseto move my father from Virginia Beach. Had they stayed here, she could have had an army of family surrounding him, caring, helping, and loving him. No, she is the perfect martyr.
Well, I’m not. I’m over her nonsense too. “That’s fine, I’m thinking of wearing black instead of white,” I toss back, knowing it’ll upset her delicate Southern heart.
“What?” She practically screeches. “You can’t wear black to a wedding! It’s not done. It’s not allowed!”
I sigh, a smile playing on my lips. “I’d love to talk more, but I have to go. Lots to do before the big day. Can’t wait to see Daddy . . . and you . . . in three days.”
